Five AUs I Will Never Write
by Beatrice Otter
Summary: Ficlets: Adama was a Cylon, not Tigh; Dee said yes to Billy when he asked her to marry him; they found a prisoner on the Resurrection Ship raid besides D’Anna; the Rebel Cylons were smart; Cally didn’t shoot Boomer.
1. The one where Adama was one of the Five

**Characters (in order of appearance):** Saul Tigh, Laura Roslin, Anastasia Dualla, Billy Keikeya, Kara Thrace, Daniel, John Cavil, Natalie, Ellen Tigh, Leoben Conoy, Sharon Valerii, Sharon Agathon. Plus various OC Cylons.  
**Warnings:** None  
**Spoilers:** the whole series; nothing from Caprica.  
**Word Count: **3,581

**Author's note: **If anyone wants to take any of these and develop them, go for it!

_The one where Adama was one of the final five, instead of Tigh._

"You asked to see me, Madam President?" Colonel Tigh looked curiously around the bare room. When he'd gotten the summons, he'd assumed that he'd be meeting her in the Admiral's quarters, where she'd held court most often lately when she came to Galactica. Instead, Bill had directed him to an empty briefing room that had been set up with a desk and two chairs.

"Yes, thank you for coming." She gestured him to sit across from her. "We have a problem, Colonel."

Saul couldn't think of anything he specifically had done lately that might have offended her. "Why aren't you talking with Bill about it?" He slouched down in the chair, ignoring the aches and twinges of the morning after.

Roslin pressed her lips together. "Bill Adama _is_ the problem. He came to me an hour ago to confess that he was one of the Final Five Cylons."

Saul jerked upright. "That's impossible. There's no way Bill Adama is a frakking Cylon."

"That was my initial reaction, as well," Roslin said. "Never the less, that's what he claims."

"So either it's true, or he's snapped," Saul said. "Either way, we're frakked."

"I'm glad to see we're on the same page, here."

"Why is he coming forward now?" Saul said, searching his memory for any hint of this in his friend's words or actions, hurt that Bill had chosen to tell the president but not his best friend. "I mean, if _I_ were a Cylon, I sure as hell wouldn't admit to it unless I had to."

"Then we can all be glad that Bill Adama apparently has more integrity than you, Colonel," Roslin said dryly. "He claims that he didn't know until we approached the Ionian Nebula, that he began hearing music no one else could hear, and when we arrived he realized that he was a Cylon. Obviously, he couldn't step down in the middle of battle; he told me as soon as things had calmed down. He has no explanation for the fact that he's been living among humans for at least the last thirty years. Nor will he say if any others of the Final Five are in the Fleet."

"Which means they probably are here," Saul said. He shook his head. "So that's why he was late to CIC—I'd wondered."

"And it explains his erratic behavior during Baltar's trial," Roslin said. "Whether he was having a nervous breakdown or an epiphany. But that's not the problem. The problem is _Galactica_."

"We can't have a Gods-damned Cylon in control of the Colonial Fleet, even if it is Bill Adama," Saul said, heart sinking as he considered the implications. "You and I don't get on, and after what happened the last time I was in command, I doubt the Fleet would stand for it. Lee would be my next choice—he has the experience, which is more than I can say for anyone else—but he's a civilian now, a politician, Caprica's representative on the Quorum."

"I doubt that will last, once word gets out," Roslin said. "A Human-Cylon hybrid on the Quorum?"

"And you spent all that time worried about Hera Agathon, when there was a half-Cylon right under your nose." Saul shook his head. "You ever get the feeling the gods are toying with us?"

"I've decided I don't like irony," Roslin said with a small smile without humor in it. "If Bill, you, and Lee are disqualified, who's next?"

"Karl Agathon would be best—he's smart, loyal, a good officer," Saul said. "But he's married to a Cylon, even if she is one of our pilots, now. After that … command is traditionally reserved for pilots, but none of the rest of ours have anywhere near the kind of experience or training they'd need. We've gone through too many of them since the fall of the Colonies. Felix Gaeta might be able to do it; or Louis Hoshi, come to think of it—he was one of the Pegasus officers, but there was never any shit on him over that whole mess. Aside from them …" Saul shook his head. "I can't think of anyone else who might be able to handle it."

Roslin sat back in her chair, lips pursed. "So it's you, or one of two junior lieutenants."

Saul shook his head. "We're frakked."


	2. The one where Dee said yes to Billy

For the first time, Dee didn't mind the endless dreariness of New Caprica. The unpleasant weather outside meant the chances of anyone hanging around to listen in were small. Given how little the tent walls blocked sound, they needed all the help they could get.

Ms. Roslin was pacing around the tent, arms folded, avoiding what little furniture Dee and Billy had managed to make or trade for. It was just the three of them; Ms. Roslin was well known for having a soft spot for Billy, so a visit would pass mostly unremarked. "Unfortunately, Baltar's complete lack of spine isn't surprising at all," she said.

Dee rolled her eyes. If it had been, she wouldn't have helped try to steal the election. Though she had to admit, no one had anticipated anything quite _this_ catastrophic. "It's the Cylons I can't figure out. They've been here almost a week, and they're still trying to pretend they come in peace and just want to help. Who do they think they're fooling?"

"But what if they _are_ telling the truth?" Billy said. "Or at least _think_ they are. Do we want to do anything that might provoke them into changing their minds?" It was funny how her husband's naïveté could be either annoying or the most appealing thing about him, under different circumstances. How he'd managed to hang onto it this long, she had no idea.

"And if we just cave to their demands, what position will we be in when the gloves come off?" Roslin countered. "No. We can't just roll over. We have to act."

"But it doesn't have to be overt, not at first," Dee said. "Our first priority has to be keeping our people alive until Galactica and the Fleet come for us, and getting them ready to evacuate at a moment's notice. That will be easier if the Cylons think we're pacified."

Roslin took off her glasses. "What do you mean?"

"It's like being on a ship," Dee said. She paused, gathering her thoughts. "The officers give the orders, but it's the crew who carry them out. Everything depends on them interpreting and passing on orders, and sometimes there are a lot of different ways to do so, that get done what needs doing. And once they've given the orders, officers sometimes aren't very good at seeing how they're carried out unless something goes wrong. Sometimes, when you've got a bad officer, you have to use that to … work around them and in spite of them. The Cylons … so far, they're not exactly getting their hands dirty. They've got the Centurions helping build and plant, but the Centurions don't exactly mix with humans. Neither do the skin jobs—all _they've_ done so far is give orders phrased as 'requests.' If we show them what they want to see … maybe we can work around them." She finished, face heating slightly under the intent gazes of both her husband and the former President.

"That's a very good idea, Dee," Ms. Roslin said softly. "I suppose you have a few ideas for carrying that out?"

"Yes," Dee said. "And the first is, show them what they want to see. They're going to be watching you very carefully, ma'am. They'll be suspicious if you just roll over for them."

"Yes, I see that," she said. "If Baltar won't speak up for our people, I will."

"You'll have to be careful, not to antagonize them into cracking down too hard," Billy said, anxiously. "The longer we can go with the Cylons playing nice, the more people will survive in the long run. Assuming Galactica and Pegasus come back for us."

"They'll come," Dee said fiercely. "The Old Man won't leave us here."

Roslin nodded. "Whatever else you may think about Admiral Adama, he is fiercely loyal and stubborn. He'll be back. We need to be ready. And if they're watching me, that means I can't be running the show behind the scenes."

"No, ma'am," Dee said, running through a list of who could pull something like this off. Colonel Tigh would want to be in charge if he caught wind of this, but he didn't have the kind of subtlety needed. Same with most of the others she knew. It was a shame Felix was so closely tied with the administration—he'd be ideal for this. She could really use his help.

"Think you can do it, Petty Officer?" When Dee didn't answer, Roslin went on. "You've got experience in subterfuge, fairly successfully, too. As Galactica's former communications officer, you've got connections. Not to mention, I seem to recall you being fairly close to Felix Gaeta, which gives you a back-door channel to the President's office, however ineffective it may be."

"Thank you for your confidence, ma'am. We have to assume that eventually they'll either kill or imprison you." Dee put her hand on Billy's to stifle his protest. "If we're lucky, they won't torture you for information. But if they do … it's probably best if you don't have too much information to give them."

Ms. Roslin nodded, soberly. "I suppose you're right. But that means we do need contingency plans, for what happens after they take me. Somebody will have to take over being the public face of the people, then. Someone not important enough for them to go after, someone they'll underestimate."

"Who do you have in mind?" Billy asked.

"Think you're up to it, Mister Keikeya? Putting that innocent baby face to work for the Colonies, again?"

Billy gaped like a fish. "Uh, ma'am, when I look innocent, it's because I usually _am_. I did enough drama in school to know I'm no actor."

"Billy and I are both most useful in the background," Dee said. "Aides. Helpers. Couriers. Back-door channels. The kind of people everyone—Colonial and Cylon alike—don't even notice. That's what makes us dangerous." Billy twined his fingers through hers. She squeezed his hand.


	3. The one where they rescued someone

Kara swore viciously under her breath. She and a Six had somehow gotten cut off from the main attack group, and here she was running through a Cylon ship with a Cylon at her back, hoping they could find a way back to the main group before getting killed. She followed the Six, hoping like hell she wasn't being led into some kind of ambush.

"Wait," she called, as the Six turned into a different corridor. "Gods-dammit, _stop_."

"What?" the Six said, pissy.

Kara pushed down a fantasy of wiping that look off her face, like she'd done to the six in the museum in Caprica. "Don't you hear it?"

"I don't hear anything but a firefight," the Six said. "And if we're going to make it back to the group and not get left behind, it's _this way_."

"No, there's something weird," Kara said, feeling an echo of the compulsions that had driven her since her return to the Fleet. "We need to go this way." She ran down the corridor opposite the one the Six had selected, honestly not caring if she followed.

"You do realize they'll get D'Anna any moment, now, and they won't wait for us to pull out and destroy this place," the Six said, voice as even as if they were strolling in a park instead of barreling down hallways, guns out.

"This won't take long." At the next intersection, Kara paused. "Do you hear it now?"

The Six frowned. "Is someone playing a piano?"

"I didn't know Cylons were musical types," Kara said, figuring out which way to go.

"We're not, generally," Six said. Halfway down the hall, she stopped at a door. "I think it's coming from in here." She placed a hand on the control interface, and frowned. "It's coded only to allow Ones access—I can't get through." She sounded shocked. "I didn't know it was _possible_ to lock things to only one model. And—it's locked from this side. I think … I think there's a prisoner in there. A _Cylon_ prisoner."

"Maybe they already unboxed D'Anna," Kara suggested. "You going to be able to get in that way?"

"No," Six said. "The programming is too sophisticated. I don't think it was originally designed to be a lock, but they put a lot of effort into making it one."

"That can be fixed," Kara said. She waved the Six out of the way, then shot the panel. It sparked and died.

The Six grabbed the door, forcing it back into its slot manually. As soon as the gap was wide enough, Kara slipped through.

The room was bare except for a bench and a piano. A man sat at the piano; he didn't stop playing or look up at the new arrivals. He had light brown hair, and looked to be in his early thirties, though of course that didn't matter with Cylons. "Having problems, John?" he said.

"I'm not John," Kara said.

He looked up, eyes widening. He stared at her, jaw dropping. "_Kara?_"

She stared back. Surely, she was wrong. He couldn't be who he looked like. Maybe her memory had clouded over the years. "_Dad?"_


	4. The one where the Rebel Cylons are smart

"You can't do this!" Cavil protested.

"We're not even _boxing_ you," Natalie said, exasperated. They'd covered this many, many times since the main speaker for the Ones had resurrected after they'd told the Centurions what he'd done. "I know the Ones and Fours have always had jurisdiction over the Resurrection process, but given the situation, we wanted to make sure _we_ had access to it, as well."

"First smart thing _you've_ ever done," he shot back.

"You're not exactly convincing me I'm wrong," Natalie said. "When we've worked through our differences, then we'll discuss returning things to the status quo. Until then, this resurrection ship—and the Hub—will stay firmly in our hands." She paused as the door slid open.

Charlie, a Two, stepped through. "Sorry to interrupt, but you're not going to believe what we found tucked away in a corner of the Hub," he said.

Behind him stood a blonde woman—not a fellow Six. She looked vaguely familiar; Natalie wracked her brain for her name.

"Frak," Cavil said.

"Ellen Tigh?" Beside her, Leoben was incredulous.

Mrs. Tigh ignored him, watching Cavil carefully. "Hello, John. I'm sorry you're unhappy to see me, but I can't say I miss that cell."

"You had a human prisoner?" Natalie asked. With the name, she was able to place the woman—the wife of Saul Tigh, the one Cavil had been frakking on the side on New Caprica.

"Oh, I'm not human," Mrs. Tigh said brightly.

"She's one of the Five," Boomer said, quietly. Natalie had almost forgotten she was there. Her sister Eights had made sure she was separated from Cavil, and it was the first she'd spoken since the meeting started.

Cavil shot her a nasty look, but the Eight standing behind him clicked her gun safety off and on, and he subsided.

"You _know who the Final Five are?_" Natalie said to Boomer, shocked.

"Cavil does," Boomer said. "I only know Ellen."

"Of course John knows who we are," Ellen said. "After all, he's the one who wiped our memories and dumped us in the Colonies, wiping your memories of us in the process. John's always been a bit jealous, and he wanted to run things himself."

"I told you, _my name isn't John!_" Cavil ground out.

Natalie closed her eyes. This was too much to deal with all at once. The implications … no wonder the Ones had been so quick to insist on boxing the Threes! "Take the Ones and their allies to holding cells," she said. "We can return to negotiations after this has been cleared up."

***

Natalie stood and stared down at the sleeping faces of the Final Five, waiting to be resurrected. Saul Tigh, Galen Tyrol, Tory Foster, Sam Anders, and an extra body for Ellen Tigh. No wonder things had gone to hell so fast on Caprica. Perhaps Caprica had been right after all.

"You know, we have boxed backups of them from the time Cavil—John—wiped their memories." It was Rahel, an Eight, and she sounded thoughtful.

"I know," Ellen said, behind her. "It's how I was able to remember everything after I was resurrected."

"What are you suggesting?" Leoben said.

"Why don't we just unbox the copies we have?" Rahel said. "Do we need to recover the originals that are still with the Fleet?"

"You want to leave them there among _humans_?" Leoben was shocked.

"After all that's happened, I don't know that they'd welcome us with open arms even if they knew what they were," Natalie said.

"Obviously, we need to stop hunting the remaining Humans—maybe even send them some supplies or new ships or something," Rahel said. "But I don't think coming to them directly would result in anything good. If nothing else, New Caprica proved that."

"I doubt they'd take any help from us," Natalie said. "What do you think, Ellen?"

The older woman—their mother?—had moved to sit by her husband's body, fingers trailing through the gel that supported and nourished him. "If we could be sure of retrieving them from the Fleet without any bloodshed, I'd say do it. But we can't. Let's just wake them up."


	5. The one where Cally didn’t shoot Boomer

Sharon had known that when they reached _Galactica_, she would be put in a cell. She hadn't expected one quite this large and room-like; obviously, this had been constructed since the last time the other Sharon had downloaded, just prior to the fall of the Colonies.

Constructed to hold Sharon. The Sharon who'd been on _Galactica_ all along.

Her sister looked up as the Marines shoved her in, none too gently. "What the _frak_," the other Sharon said.

"Hello," Sharon said. "Guess we're bunking together, huh?"

"Was there another of us in the Fleet all along?" Her sister stood up, squaring her shoulders, every muscle tense.

"Another Eight, you mean? No, I've been on Caprica since just before the attack."

"They went back to _Caprica_?" Sharon was incredulous.

"A small mission, only." Sharon shrugged. "Starbuck was sent to get the Arrow of Apollo—they needed it to find the way to Earth. She got it, and found Helo and I."

"Helo's _alive?_" Sharon raised her hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "Thank the gods!"

Sharon cocked her head. She'd gotten used to the Colonial polytheism, but to hear it in a Cylon mouth was definitely weird.

"Wait. You and Helo? You were with Helo? Did he think you were _me?_"

"Yes." Sharon met her eyes squarely.

Her sister began pacing the cell. "How'd you pull that off? How did you manage to convince him you were me? Didn't he notice you didn't have any first-hand knowledge of Galactica, didn't know any of the in-jokes? Didn't it _bother_ you to deceive him, to pretend to be Sharon?" She spat the questions out furiously.

"I am Sharon," Sharon said. "And … you downloaded just a few days before the attacks on the colonies, to give us last-minute updates on the state of the Colonial Fleet. I have all your memories up to that point."

The other Sharon froze. "You _bitch_," she said venomously. She launched herself across the cell. "You _bitch!_" She attacked, every blow full of rage. "You ruined my life, you took everything I have, and you think you can even take my _name_, my _memories?_"

Sharon blocked the first two blows, but her sister got a good hit in on her abdomen, and Sharon dropped like a stone, curling up around her baby, hoping like hell the Marines stepped in to stop this.

It seemed an eternity before she heard the door slam open, angry shouting, a gunshot.

***

Two hours later, they sat on opposite sides of the cell. Sharon was chained to the wall, sitting on the floor, bullet wound in her shoulder roughly bandaged, staring at the ceiling. Sharon sat on the cot well out of her reach, watching her sister warily.

"You're going to delete my memories," Sharon said, coolly, never looking down.

"I can't do that," Sharon said. "And I wouldn't, even if I could. They're my memories, too."

"You have _no right_ to them!" Sharon said. "They're _mine_."

Sharon was probably the only Cylon who could understand what her sister meant. Among their brothers and sisters, memory was like everything else, to be shared with one another for the good of all. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care how sorry you are. You are not me. You are not going to pretend to be me, ever again. You are going to find something else to call yourself—not Sharon Valerii, not Boomer. Something that was never mine."


End file.
